Page 3 of Served

“On the house, obviously,” I say when I bring them out, with a side of guacamole and chips and a glass of agua de pepino.

“Not necessary.” He reaches for his wallet.

“No, please. I insist.” I touch his arm as I set the plate in front of him. Damn, that muscle is rock hard.

He smiles again. This time, I notice a small scar above his right eyebrow. “Well, all right, but only if you take a seat and rest a few minutes.”

“Fine,” I say, sitting across from him. I find myself smiling back. It feels foreign on my face, like a muscle I haven’t used.

“I’ve been really looking forward to trying your food. All I’ve heard about is the Mariposa Taqueria food truck since I got into town yesterday.”

Felix takes a bite and closes his eyes, making a sound that verges on indecent. My panties flood again at the look of ecstasy on his face.

Get it together, Letty.

“This is incredible,” he says after swallowing. “Seriously. Best I’ve ever had.”

Pride swells in my chest. “Thank you. It was my grandmother’s recipe. Abuela taught us everything my sister and I know about cooking.”

“She’d be proud of you both.” His eyes meet mine again, and something in their depths makes my heart pound.

He continues to eat like a man who takes the time to savor every morsel, licking guac off his lips and fingers carefully. I grip the table’s edge.

He catches me staring and I blush, feeling self-conscious about the way I look—wishing my hair wasn’t sticking to my face in a sweaty mess, that I’d put on lipstick this morning, that my apron wasn’t so greasy.

“What brings you to Deepwood Mountain?” I ask, trying to distract myself from the butterflies having a dance party in my stomach.

“I’m helping Troy and Zoe Lawson with their Memorial Day celebration.” He wipes his mouth, then crumples the napkin in his fist. “I work with a non-profit foundation for vets. You should join the planning committee.”

Memorial Day. Flags on graves. Speeches about heroes. Jason’s name etched in granite and my memory.

“I’m…busy.”

“That’s too bad.” His voice softens. “Could use someone with your talents.”

My ring finger aches where my wedding band used to sit. Four years ago, and sometimes it still feels like yesterday.

Felix studies me, his gaze peeling back layers I thought I’d armor-plated. “May I ask…did you lose someone?”

The question hangs in the air.

“My husband.” The words taste like ash. “Marine. Died overseas.”

His jaw tenses up, a shadow flitting across his face. “I’m truly sorry, Letty.”

“Thank you.” I shake my head, determined to hold back the tears. “He adored the Corps. Would’ve re-enlisted a hundred times.”

Felix is quiet for a long moment. Then he gathers up his empty plate and cup before tossing them in the nearby garbage can together with the used utensils. Then he pulls a card from his wallet.

Second Mission Foundation. Felix Reeves, Outreach Coordinator.

“If you ever change your mind,” he says. “About the committee.”

As I take the card, his fingertips linger on mine.

My heart hammers as he puts his cap back on, tipping it toward me. “Letty, thank you for the wonderful meal and even more wonderful company.” I watch as his broad back retreats down Main Street, my mind in a whirl.

Jason… What the hell am I supposed to do now?

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